


New List: Connor

by softroborudy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor learns a lot., Dad Hank is best Hank, Everyone's alive and well thank goodness, F/F, F/M, Gen, Living and Being Alive 101: Intro Course, M/M, Pacifist Markus, more characters may appear later - Freeform, no one is straight and im sorry (i'm not sorry)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-28 07:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15043334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softroborudy/pseuds/softroborudy
Summary: The concept of self, personhood, identity—is entirely new to Connor.He's no longer "Connor. The android sent by cyberlife." He's just... Connor.With his mind now clear of prompted priority lists and mission status updates, he finds himself with an unsettling amount of space. Idle thoughts are uncharted territory.Freshly deviant and craving order, Connor makes a list.





	1. Likes Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Long time since I've written fic but Detroit: Become Human is too good to pass up? Here goes nothing, I've got a couple of fun plans for this one. Stay tuned. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

The concept of self, personhood, identity—is entirely new to Connor.

With his mind now clear of prompted priority lists and mission status updates, he finds himself with an unsettling amount of space. Idle thoughts are uncharted territory that lead down endless chains, somehow mixing predictions and memories.

It reaches its peak while he helps Hank clear away piles of papers and cardboard storage boxes from his ‘office’. A spare room in his house that, telling from the layers of accumulated dust, has not been used in approximately six months. Connor is aware of the fact that he has barely spoken since Hank had pulled him into a tight hug out front of the fast food stand days ago and offered him a place to stay. Hank had also noticed, judging from the odd glances he'd been sending Connor’s way—though, he had yet to vocalize his concern.

Connor appreciated it.

He was... processing, and there was a lot to process. His thoughts felt like uncoiling a heap of string, twisting and knotting anytime he tried to pull it straight. It isn’t until the room is nearly clear of boxes, and a filing cabinet stuffed to the point of bursting is unearthed, that the strand of thought snaps.

Organization. That’s what he needs. He's awestruck with the tangible metaphor in front of him, unphased by the loud gunshot sneeze Hank releases as he pulls the dusty drawers free.

He is an android of habit. Organization and lists are in his thirium. He doesn't have to shed everything from his previous persona, after all, from the vague sense of his own self, that was part of what he was.

Connor spends a large amount of his time after that revelation—reviewing, compiling, and storing his memories. It doesn't take long once he establishes a plan. 22 hours, 45 minutes and 13 seconds—enough time to finish the task of assisting Hank with clearing out the room. The process itself was a foreign mix of soothing and disturbing. Certain memories he carefully saved to more accessible pathways, labelling them with emotions for cross-referencing purposes. Fear, Happiness, Dread, Comfort, Excitement. Others he buried, only touching briefly on the playback before shoving it aside—unwilling to relive the moment. The recount went back all the way to the beginning, the rooftop, the investigation, the fish in the tank. He tracked past the seconds, savouring the pleasant sensation of order and calm.

He felt... better. Aware that it meant he had been feeling worse before. He theorizes that doing a regular reflection and storage of events should become a regular activity for him. For his mental health he decides. Connor created a new priority list, he assigns the task and sets it with a daily reminder. There's a familiar reassurance in the blip of a task in the edge of his conscious.

Now that his thoughts are in order he proceeds to address the question that had pervaded his mind beforehand.

Personhood, identity. Who is he? The question is far too vast to try and answer in one shot, he has little to no material to go off of. Doing so would just lead into another endless loop. Stumped Connor executes the logical next step.

_[ Consult Hank. ]_

 

***

 

“Who am I?”

Connor speaks up, abruptly, standing in the entryway of the kitchen as Hank stirs something bubbling on the stove. The older man jumps, spoon slipping from his grasp and splashing a considerable amount of red sauce across his shirt and stovetop.

“Jesus, Connor! What the hell!?” Hank shouts as he rounds on Connor with an expression mixed between confusion and anger. “Warn a guy when you suddenly feel like speaking for the first time in days. Christ. Look at this mess.”

“Sorry Lieutenant—“

“—Hank, and what’s with the philosophical question? Is that what’s been spacing you out?” Hank questions the android as he rips a portion of paper towel from the roll beside the sink and swipes the mess, hissing slightly as his finger brushes too close to the burner. He continues, tossing Connor another glance, “Do yourself a favour kid. Don’t think too hard about it, humans have been around for a lot longer than you guys and we still haven’t figured it out.”

Connor weighs Hank’s answer as he retrieves a wet cloth from the sink and hands it to the other. Hank accepts the cloth with a sigh, exchanging it for the soggy wad of paper towel.

“I’m… unsure of how to properly phrase my question.” Connor voices his thoughts as he tosses the paper into the trash bin. He turns back to face Hank and leans against the kitchen counter.“Now that I’m… deviant,“ the word is still heavy on his artificial tongue, ”I don’t know who I am… personally.” He frowns at the admission, still unsure of how to broach concept. He looks over to Hank who's looking down into the sauce in contemplative silence. Connor endeavours to clarify once again, “Before I had a mission. That was my identity. Everything I did was to achieve my mission. I don’t know what I am without it.” His breath hitches on the last sentence. The words tumbling out haphazard, attached to the string of others, he hadn’t prepared it. It burns slightly in his chest.

Sumo wanders into the kitchen, likely alerted by the sounds of food and voices, snuffling along the floor and lapping up the drops of sauce beside Hank’s feet. Hank lightly nudges the dog away complaining about the wet spots and Sumo changes course to press his cold nose into Connor’s palm. He welcomes the distraction, scratching his nails into the short hairs on the top of Sumo’s head. The dog’s thick tail thumps against the tiled floor in appreciation. Connor files away the spot as ‘a good scratch spot’ in his quick access labelled ’Sumo’.

“Take it slow.” Hank finally answers, his voice softer slightly than his usual gruff tone. “Start simple. Consider the facts. You know how to do that right?” Hank shoots Connor a wry grin as he reaches to click the stove off and scoots the bubbling pot away from the heat. “Things don’t always have to be a big deal, especially huge things like this.” He gestures to Connor with the spoon. “Hell, make a list. Treat it like a…” Hank snaps his fingers,Connor recognizes the movement as Hank’s ‘this-helps-me-remember-something’ gesture. “like a—dating profile.” He grins at his comparison.

“A dating profile?” Connor waits for an explanation, feeling the circling yellow of his LED as he tries to relate the concepts.

“Yeah—likes, dislikes, hobbies, etc.” Hank shrugs, turning back to the preparation of his meal. “Character traits.”

Connor considers it, the list idea is immediately appealing, he barely has to think about it before the prompt is before him. For lack of a better idea, he labels the list with his own name, and starts a new entry…

And stops.

_Adding things... this is the tough part._ He frowns.

Sumo huffs a breath into Connor’s hand, obviously displeased with the pause in his scratches. Welcoming the distraction once again Connor forgoes his decorum subroutine and sinks to sit on the kitchen floor.

Small rebellions— this was a start at least.

Sumo immediately excites now that he has Connors full attention. All but climbing into his lap and showering slobbery kisses over the androids face. Connor can’t help the small chuckle as he playfully pushes the dog back a bit to scratch behind his ears.

“Now there’s something,” Connor peaks over the mass of fur taking up nearly all of his field of vision to see Hank’s smile. It’s a rare one that Connor immediately marks as important. The expression is clear of all Hank's usual sarcasm and teasing. He continues, folding his arms and looking at the pair on the floor fondly. “—that’s a good trait.”

Connor looks back to Sumo’s furry head as he sniffs at the strings of Connor’s borrowed hoodie. He runs his fingers through Sumo’s long fur, recording the texture and colour. Before he fully realizes it, his list has a new addition.

_Connor:_

_[ + Likes Dogs ]_

 

 


	2. A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an android created specifically for picking up on clues, Connor had noticed he could be incredibly obtuse.

For an android created specifically for picking up on clues, Connor had noticed he could be incredibly obtuse. Despite the multitude of hints that Hank dropped during the cleaning process Connor had not managed to piece together one obvious fact. He stands, dumbfounded in the centre of what has now been revealed as  _ his  _ room. 

 

“What, did you think, I was just using you for free labour to clean this place out?” Hank casts him an exasperated look as Connor takes in the nearly empty room. He hesitates in answering, still caught up in the realization. Hank sighs audibly and shakes his head before continuing “—Don’t answer that. Anyway, I figured you could use your own space.” He shrugged as Connor stared around, all that remained from the previous mess was a small worn out desk, a rolling chair, the now emptied filing cabinet, and a very dead potted plant. “Feel free to do whatever you want with it—cover it in posters, paint it, get a hamster, whatever.” Hank looks appraisingly at Connor. “Actually don’t get a hamster… No hamsters allowed.”

 

“Lieut—Hank, this is…” Connor tries to assess the emotion running through him—making his chest warm and his eyes water. “Thank you.” He says the words in earnest, looking to Hank in hopes that he will do a better job of reading him than Connor can at expressing it. 

 

“No problem kid.” Hank crosses his arms and nods, hiding a fond smile behind his curtain of hair. “Alright, enough feelings—let’s make lunch, I’m starving.” He shrugs out of the room, either in pursuit of food or simply to escape Connor’s awe-filled expression. Connor is 90% sure it was the latter.

 

He gave the room, his room, one last glance before shutting the door behind him. The subtle blink of a new objective came into his periphery. 

 

_New Task:_ [ Decorate Room ]

  
  


***

  
  


Connor enters the kitchen to find Hank pouring himself a bowl full of cereal.

 

“I thought you said you were making lunch?” Connor inquires, moving to sit at the kitchen table.

 

Hank huffs a sigh, putting the cereal box down and turning to the fridge. “In this house, we serve all day breakfast.” He pours milk across the corn flakes and turns. “Want some?” 

 

“No, thank you.” Connor shakes his head. Hank knows full well the android couldn’t eat but couldn’t seem to break the habit. Connor appreciates it, filing it away as another sign that Hank has accepted his humanity. They sit together in silence for a time, at some point, Hank activates the sound system to play a jazzy tune that fits seamlessly with the midday lull. 

 

Connor decides he likes the kitchen. There’s something about the space that lends a comfort the moment he walks in, the combined lighting of the overhead bulbs and the sun streaming in from the windows illuminating pathways of dust particles and dog hair hanging in the air. It seems that most of their conversations take place in this particular space of the house, Hank seems to gravitate here as well he notes. Especially when he has something to discuss. Connor nearly predicts the start of an upcoming question down to the second.

 

“So, what are you going to do now?” Hank breaks the silence, setting his bowl on the table after drinking the remaining milk from his cereal.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Connor frowns at the question. Hank leans back in his chair, looking at Connor appraisingly.

 

“What’s the plan, now that you’re—” Hank gestures to him as if his whole situation could be summed up in a wave. “—free, what’re you planning to do now?”

 

Connor suddenly feels a surge of empathy for those they’ve interrogated in the past. If he had the capability, he’d be sweating bullets under Hank’s scrutiny. The question is something he had yet to consider, one of many he’s realizing. 

 

“I— hadn’t thought about it…” Voicing his thoughts directly seems to be the best idea at the moment. “I suppose the most logical choice would be to continue my detective work. That’s what I was built for after all.” He considers his words, it makes sense. The world is moving forward, more than anyone had thought possible mere months ago. Androids are gaining their freedom, and with it comes its own problems. The potential for android related crimes has increased exponentially. Despite the climb in public approval gained by Markus’ pacifist campaign, old habits of abuse and disrespect are hard to break, and some humans are not ready to embrace the change. Adding to the mix, not all Androids are as passive and willing to forgive as those involved in the freedom march. The DPD will need all the help it can get. 

 

Hank nods, humming in agreement. “That makes sense.” He leans forward and heaves himself up out of his chair, retrieving his bowl and taking it to the sink. “If that’s what you really want to do.” The conversation fades into running water and jazz. Connor… thinks.

 

What he really wanted to do. What had Hank meant by the last sentence, it sticks out to Connor as he looks down at his own hands on the worn table. Is it? Does he really want to return to the familiarity of analyzing crime scenes, to the slight thrill of chasing down suspects, to the hostile co-worker Reed,  and the general disregard of the bullpen and Captain? He… isn’t sure. There’s a pull within him to the security of something familiar, he knows for a fact that he’s capable of doing the job—he was indeed built for it. But, he’s never even considered the option of doing something else. Despite the intimidating void of unprocessed variables and unknowable outcomes, he decides, it’s worth investigating further. 

 

_New Task:_ [Consider Future] —the task looks out of place in comparison to the previous one he just added, much grander in scale, but it’s reassuring to have more than one item on the list. 

 

Just as he begins to act on the directive, splitting the task into smaller more manageable parts, a message pings in from an external source. He tenses, the only direct communications he had received before were from either the DPD case notification server or from Cyberlife. This sender though, he realizes, is a serial number he recognizes, RK200#684.842.971—Markus. He opens the message, a mixture of wary and curious prickling at his sensors as he loads the contents. Any notification from your local neighbourhood android revolutionary leader is due to be interesting.

 

“Connor?” Hank paused his cleaning to shoot Connor a concerned look. Connor forgot that receiving messages looks like a human wince, his eyes rapidly blinking as his focus turns internally.

 

“I’ve received a message, from Markus.” Connor’s vision clears as he refocuses on Hank.

 

“Oh?” Hank’s expression shifts to match Connor’s earlier reaction, a wary curiosity. 

 

“I’ve been invited to a… paint night.” He reads out the last words in confusion. The event invitation appears to be part of a mass communication sent out to all of Markus’ close contacts. It’s by far the last thing he was expecting to receive from the other android. Hank’s bark of a laugh is anything to go by, he’s come to the same conclusion.

 

“Shit, really? Wow.” He grins, swinging the dishcloth over his shoulder. “Sounds... fun?”

 

“…Yes, it’s being held at a reclaimed Cyberlife warehouse, New Jericho. Markus wants us to ‘meet and greet’” Connor considers, unsure of his feelings about it. The concept of meeting with a crowd of deviants and socializing makes the components in his abdomen feel as if they weighed at least double their standard amount.

 

“What’s with the face,” Hank notes the grimace that Connor had unknowingly pulled. “A little socializing could do you good. Get out there, meet some people. Maybe make some friends, you could use some of those.” 

 

“You’re my friend,” Connor cuts Hank off, finding himself wanting to defend his half-formed decision to decline the invitation. “—and Sumo.” He’s grasping at straws, pointing to the dog who has wandered into the kitchen in search of lunch scraps. Hank looks at him in a way that makes him feel even more defensive. 

 

“Your old coworker and a dog is not a great start Connor,” Hank answers, deadpan. Connor meets his gaze with his best attempt at defiant resolve. Hank, relents, not pushing the subject, shrugging and drying his remaining dishes. “Do what you want, but—“ tossing the comment over his shoulder. “If you do go, get a different getup.” Connor looks down at his outfit, he’s been wearing his standard issue white collared shirt, black pants, and black socks. Hank had insisted he take his shoes off at the door, something about tracking dirt in. Apart from the hoodie, Hank had leant him while his blazer dried off from the snow, and the ‘undercover deviant’ outfit he had discarded during the chaos of November 11th, Connor had no other clothing options. 

 

“I suppose dressing like a deviant hunter would not lend well to my ‘meeting and greeting.’” Connor laments, feeling his face crease into a grimace, Hank’s snort confirms the statement. 

 

“There’s a thrift store down the block, just before the turn-off—we drove past it to get to the station. You could find something there.” Connor remembers the store. Hopefully, the staff are still in the city and haven’t fled with the majority of the other concerned citizens that felt threatened by the city’s growing android occupancy. “You can use my account,” Hank adds.

 

“Hank—you don’t have to…” Connor’s attempts at denying the other’s kindness is waved off. 

 

“Consider it a loan, as soon as you have your own way of paying for things, you can pay me back.” He finishes putting away his dishes and crosses the room to tap at a tablet laying on the table. Connor receives the credentials for Hank’s chequing account and files it into a temporary folder. He feels… guilty, like he’s taking advantage. Hank has done so much for him, even to the point of risking his job and his life.  

 

“Thank you.” He pools as much emotion as he can process into the words. It’s all he can think to say at the moment. Hank brushes it off, giving Connor’s shoulder a pat as he exits the kitchen into the living room. 

 

_ New Task _ : [Buy Clothes]

 

“Just don’t buy anything… extravagant, I’m on a budget.”

 

_ Updated Task: _ [Buy Cheap Clothes]

  
  


***

 

The shopping trip, Connor’s first ever, is an experience he can’t pass up. Even if he doesn’t decide to go to the event at New Jericho he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to have some clothing to hang in his newly acquired closet. 

 

The thrift store seems to have missed nearly all of the chaos of the outside world, as if someone pressed pause on the entire store twenty years ago and forgotten to press play again. Music from that era pipes in through tinny stereos welded to the ceiling and collecting dust. A young woman behind the till greets him as a set of chimes above the door sings his entrance. He freezes in the entryway, feeling starkly out of place, with his business casual attire and a borrowed ball cap to hide his LED. The rows of racks filled with previously owned clothing, there is something distinctly human about this space. He feels immediately like an intruder. 

 

“Is there something I can help you find?” The woman behind the till watches him through thick-rimmed glasses as he stares off into the rows of clothing, picking up on his hesitation with a smile. 

 

“I’m looking for clothes.” He mentally kicks himself over the complete failure of his conversational subroutines. 

 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” She laughs, making her way from behind the counter towards him. He can feel his stress level rising as she gets closer to inspect him. “We’ve got almost everything, what’s your flavour?” At this distance, Connor’s facial scan kicks in on autopilot, but the query bounces back—his access to the DPD identification records had been severed when he went deviant. Her name tag reads Eloise. She has a kind smile.

 

“My flavour?” Connor tries to parse the turn of phrase, Eloise watches him, eyes alight with interest. “I…” He struggles to come up with an answer. This is beginning to get frustrating, nearly everything he encounters now is something he hasn’t thought about yet. He is building from the ground up, startlingly aware of how bare bones his identity actually is. 

 

Seeming to detect his floundering Eloise points to his hat, “DPD, you a cop?” She inquires conversationally. 

 

“Detective,” he corrects, leaving out the nature of his employment. She whistles in awe.

 

“Damn, that’s pretty cool. My sister’s a cop. Detectives get to wear whatever they want right?” She turns to the rack of clothes to her right, pushing shirts aside and looking for something.

 

“Within reason…” He thinks of Hank’s patterned shirts in comparison to the rest of the bullpen’s choice in fashion. He supposes that the rank and tenure of the other detective allows him to wear whatever he pleases.

 

“What’s your favourite colour detective?” Eloise turns and holds a shirt up to his chest, measuring his shoulders in comparison. She notes the size of the shirt before returning it to the rack and continuing her search. He watches her in confusion, why is she helping him so earnestly? 

 

“Blue—you don’t need to…” He feels compelled to deny nearly all attempts of others trying to help him, being a self-sufficient machine is nearly hard-coded into his being. 

 

“You’re the first customer I’ve had in days, I’m not letting you go until you’ve bought half the store.” She smirks over at him, he detects a note of joking, or at least he hopes. Hank is on a budget after all. 

  
  


***

 

He winds up spending a lot more time in the store then he had originally intended. To the point where Hank had sent an “are you dead?” text after an hour and a half passes with no contact. Eloise is an exceptional salesperson. She had laughed for a total of 1 minute and 23 seconds after he had given the response ‘cheap clothes’ when she asked what style he was aiming for. Taking him on as a fashion disaster in desperate need of help she tackled the task of outfitting him with a new wardrobe with the determined focus of a woman on a mission. Connor respects her conviction and lets himself be pulled through the aisles, noting his slowly forming preferences as she held up options for his appraisal. His baseline being things he could easily move in and would meet the average workplace dress-code. As the pile of clothing in his arms grew heavier, he began to pick up on notable details that Eloise deemed important in clothing as well. Comfort, warmth (not necessary to him but aided in fitting the first qualifier), functionality (important to him too), pockets (agreed), and vibe. The last one was a bit unclear, he was still wrapping his head around the idea as Eloise shuffled a bright pink pair of sweats to the side with the assurance that they did not fit his ‘vibe’. In the end, after being herded into a change room at the rear of the store with Eloise’s insistence to show him the different outfits, he comes away with a significant haul. Three pairs of pants, a pair of sweats, blue jeans, and forest green slacks (which she had added to the pile upon hearing he was maybe, possibly, going to an event the following evening), a small pile of worn t-shirts with band names he doesn’t recognize (but Eloise insists are ‘cool’), a pair of sneakers that Connor is intending to wear out of the store because, amazingly, he did not know shoes could feel like this, and a cardigan that he is certain is one of the softest things he’s ever felt. He emerges with more than he had ever considered buying, staring at the pile on the cash desk with awe, which immediately falls into horror as he remembers Hank’s one request. 

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Eloise catches his expression with a shake of her head and a smile. “First-time customer discount.” She taps a button on the point of sale system and the total drops significantly. Connor looks between the screen and her in confusion. She’s… so nice. He’s used to the typical treatment of androids, he braces for it with every interaction with a human, he’s thrown through a loop at the kindness of this stranger. He thinks, for a moment, if she’d act differently if she knew of his true identity. She finishes putting his purchase in a bag and holds it out to him.

 

“If you’re sure…” She nods, as he takes it. He places his hand on the payment display and it chirps its acceptance of the payment. Eloise leans onto the desk with her elbows as he steps back with his purchase.

 

“You come back now okay? I’ve got more where that came from.” She gestures to the rows of clothing with a smile. Connor nods, he can’t help his own smile rising to the surface. He’d noticed that no other customers had come in during his time in the store, she was not kidding when she said he was the first customer in days. He made a note to come back again, the least he could do to return the favour of her help would be to support her business. 

 

“Thank you, for all of your help.” He held the bag up as he made his way to the entrance. Now eager to get back to his room to hang it all up. 

 

“No problem! Have fun at your event!” She calls out after him, waving as the chimes mark his exit. 

 

He turns onto the street to start his walk home with a smile on his face. Mission success, he thinks as the blissful wave of a completed objective washes over his system. Unaware as a new addition makes its way onto his personalized list.

 

_Connor:_

_ [+ Made a friend.] _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love... my android son. More to come soon! We'll finally meet some more androids. (I just love Hank and Connor talking and being an awkward family so much.)
> 
> Thank you again to the amazing publictransit for the editing on this! Please go read her fic 'easy' it's so good im constantly amazed.

**Author's Note:**

> huge shout out to the amazing publictransit (ikeashowroom on tumblr) for beta reading this fic. we are together here in the android protection squad. (you should go check out her good good fic) 
> 
> I'm extrawires on tumblr, robotsweater on twitter. Feel free to come gush over all these dang cute androids with me.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Hope to see you again.


End file.
